Snapshots
by Red Bess Rackham
Summary: The moments you didn't see, the inner thoughts which remained hidden, the minutes which passed by, unnoticed; the time that was... LOST. A collection of one-shots and "deleted scenes". Various characters, genres and pairings. No slash. Complete.
1. Life

**Disclaimer: **Wow, it's been a while since I did these. I don't own Lost, or anything about it for that matter, and if I did, I would be an amazing multi-millionaire, and writing that Jack and Juliet do NOT have a thing, that Libby never died, and Walt and Micheal never came to the island.

**A/n**: The following are a collection of one-shots, each based off a different prompt. They will be starring various characters and ships, taking place during various points throughout the series, they'll be various genres (though I can promise now, no horror), they'll be of various lengths, of various POVs and all rated T or less (likely all K+). Each chapter is a self-contained one-shot. The name of the chapter is the prompt used to write it. Enjoy!

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**Life**

_(Locke. Day of the crash.)_

Blackness. Darkness. Silence. Nothing.

Slowly, feeling returned. I could feel wind blowing past. There was a loud roaring that got louder as I lay there. Lots of screaming and yelling and crying. I could smell smoke very strongly and some less pleasant smells I didn't care to identify. I could feel pain in different parts of my body, particularly my head. It was pounding from injury and the extreme noise all around me. I flexed my fingers and what felt like sand collected between them. My eyes stayed shut but I could feel the heat from the sun beating down on me.

All in less than a second.

What had happened?

Slowly at first then all at once, it came back to me. Getting on the plane… getting comfortable… reading a magazine… turbulence… doing up my seatbelt in a panic… snatching an oxygen mask and strapping it on… smashing and ripping noises… roaring and rushing wind…

It crashed. The plane crashed.

For a second I thought I must be dead. But that didn't make sense. I couldn't be hearing what I was hearing, and feeling what I was feeling if I was actually dead.

_Then maybe_, I thought, _I'm _about_ to be dead_.

Finally, I forced my eyes open and blinked several times against the brilliant sun's harsh rays of light. I realized that I was laying flat on my back on sand as people ran and screamed in fear and panic and worry everywhere I tried to look. No one spared me a second glance to see if I was alive or dead or needed help or anything. I knew I couldn't move and I felt a large wave of sadness and helplessness that had nothing to do with the crashed plane.

I turned my head a bit in each direction – as best as I could – to see if I could spot my wheelchair nearby, or at least something that I could use to pull myself up and away from the burning wreckage with. Even if something were close enough for me to reach, I wasn't sure if I would actually be able to help myself and get up and away on my own.

And that's when it happened.

It was by far the most incredible thing that has ever happened in my entire life, and I'm going to go ahead and say that it's likely the most amazing thing that ever _will_ happen to me.

Startled, I lifted my head a little so I could down the length of my body at my toes. My one shoe was gone – who knows where. And I could _feel_ that it was gone. I could _feel_ air rushing past my sock. I could _feel_ the sand beneath my heel. My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest.

To fully understand why I was so shocked by this, one would have to be aware of my history. Several years ago I was involved in a terrible situation that resulted in me being paralyzed from the waist down. I haven't felt air or socks or sand or floor or _anything_, for that matter, with those two feet since then. It was pretty much the end of my life, as far as I was concerned.

So there I was, actually _feeling_ the sand. With my legs. And feet. Somehow I hadn't noticed it before, but by then my senses had definitely kicked in and I was frozen with pure shock. With no emotion, I willed my toes to wiggle, scared it wasn't real, that I was imagining it, holding my breath in case they didn't move...

But they _did._

I couldn't believe it. I literally could not fathom what was taking place. Everything around me had disappeared as I stared down at my toes and wiggled them a few more times experimentally. Mere _hours_ ago I had been unable to even get on the plane by myself, and here I was wiggling my toes. Feeling in my toes, my feet, my legs, was back. It was like I was somehow alive again. I had _life_ flowing in those legs again.

My eyes brimmed with tears and my face cracked into a massive grin.

This plane crash is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

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**A/n: **Thanks for reading! Reviews are like oxygen. :)

_(Chapters 1-22 edited, Aug 09)_


	2. Time

**A/n**: Hey all! Here's one to add to this fun set of prompt-y fics. This is another one I wrote a little while ago, but heavily edited it and stuff, this one using the prompt "Time". And even though I really don't like Micheal, I think this fic/chapter turned out pretty cool and Micheal-ish.

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**Time**

_Micheal, Shannon. Mention of Walt and unnamed mentions of Sun, Jin and Susan._

Time. What a concept.

I used to be so concerned about it. What time I had to get up in the morning, what time I had to be at work (when I had it), what time my break was, what time I was off, what time my favorite show came on, what time it ended, what time was I going to have supper, what time I was going to go to bed.

What time was it in Amsterdam. Then Italy. Then Australia. What time was it wherever _she_ was.

What day it was, how many days since I last talked to her. How many years since I last talked to or even saw our son, Walt. How many weeks until the next holiday so I could send him a letter or card and let him know just how much I missed him, and how much I loved him.

How many times I admitted to crying over her. How many times I actually cried.

How many days and months since she died. How many hours since I was in Australia picking up my ten-year-old son.

How many seconds, hours, days, weeks, months since the plane crashed.

I was just as panicked as everyone else in the aftermath. It turned out that I was fine and uninjured and so was Walt, and really, as heartless as it may sound, I didn't care about anyone else. Just Walt - that was all that mattered to me. Still is all that matters to me.

Over the next few days, the hope of being rescued dwindled and fizzled. To be honest, I actually didn't think about it at first. It wasn't until more than a week later when thoughts of getting away began to consume me.

It was hard being with Walt, because he seemed to hate me and somehow blame me for everything bad that had ever happened in his life and was happening now. That hurt a lot. After so many years of me caring from afar, here he was rejecting me like a crazy stranger he was stuck with and couldn't get away from. Even with this massive gap between us, I was still so happy to just _be_ with him

I've become so reliant on time, that when I realized my watch was broken, I had an intense need to find another one to replace it. I just _had_ to know what time it was, what day it was, and how long it would be until we got rescued. The latter of course has yet to be answered, but somehow I thought that if I had a watch on my wrist I could keep track of time, and rescue would be able to as well.

So while everyone else searched amongst the plane wreckage for food, their luggage, hair brushes, magazines and cigarettes, I searched desperately for an undamaged watch. Oddly, I felt naked and disoriented without one. Strange how being without such a meaningless little piece of metal could make me feel more lost than living on an island under a tarp and some palm leaves.

Maybe the reason why I needed it so bad was because it was a distraction. A tiny little distraction that I could put my thoughts on instead of my situation. Maybe it was an obsession that had developed because Walt was so far away before, and all I had to do was look at the clock and think about what he could possibly be doing at that moment. I still don't know why I wanted a watch so badly, but I do know that at the time, it was all I could think about at that moment.

I pushed a half destroyed airline chair out of the way, it's cushion long gone, probably acting as someone's pillow. Underneath it was a small case, like one that would hold a shaving kit or a woman's makeup. Though not hopeful about possibly finding a watch inside, and not just because it was unzipped, I picked it up to inspect it's contents. I thought I would keep the case. It was quite nice.

Inside was a pair of nail clippers, a flowery nail file or two, a package of Kleenex, a travel-sized bottle of nail polish remover, and several small bottles of nail polish in a wide rainbow of colors.

I snorted. "Nail polish?"

Shannon, a blonde girl who was frantically searching for her luggage nearby, jerked her head up. "Did you say nail polish?" her eyes gleamed hopefully.

I smirked. "Yeah. Is it yours?"

Shannon shook her head.

"Did you want it?"

She nodded her head vigorously.

I laughed a little. "Alright then. It's all yours. Except the case."

She shrugged and took the case from me. She emptied it into a small cloth bag by her feet murmured a quick "thanks" and handed me back the case. She then continued searching for her luggage and other salvageable treasures.

I stared at the shining black case, trying to think of what I could possibly use it for and didn't know. But I'd figure something out - it was a nice case.

I turned to try and search in a different spot, trying to avoid the thought that people usually wear their watches instead of put them in their luggage. There was no way I wanted to have to look among the dead in the fuselage just for a watch. As I took a few steps away, a sudden glimmer caught my eye. I looked down and saw something gold sticking a little bit out of the sand. It appeared to be a piece of costume jewelry or something.

I bent down to retrieve it and further inspect it, and found I was half right. It can be considered a piece of jewelry, but as I turned it over in my fingers, I was quite certain it was not part of any costume and that it was also designed for a man.

It was a man's watch.

I felt inexplicably happy and relieved as I brushed the last of the sand away from its shining surface and crevices. I immediately latched it onto my wrist and smiled a little. How such a small thing could make me feel so much better, I don't know.

But at least I finally knew what time it was.

And yet, as the days went by, I looked less and less at that watch. I soon forgot that I even had it on, as I tended to get up with the sun and go to bed not long after it set, just like most everyone else on the island with me.

I gave the watch back to its previous owner after he attacked me over it. I won't go into major detail here, but let's just say that his wife tried to assure me that it was a matter of honor that I wouldn't understand. I didn't. And I still don't.

With less and less hope of being rescued, where a day that occurs with no deaths, injuries, attacks, strange noises, kidnappings, strange animals or arguments is a rare and amazing blessing, I think I have finally learned.

Out here, time – well, a watch anyways – means nothing and really don't matter.

Time. What a concept.

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**A/n**: Cool. So there you are. And please leave me a review, for I adore it, and getting reviews makes my day, my week, and sometimes even my month. :D


	3. Darkness

**A/n:** This one takes place immediately after Claire was abducted by Ethan. Enjoy! :) Oh, and not all of them will be in first person POV, btw. It just so happens these first few are.

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**Darkness**

_Charlie. Very small appearance by Jack and Kate. Mention of Claire._

My eyes are shut. I'm not sure if I'm dead or alive. I can't feel anything, I can't hear anything. All my senses seem somehow turned off. And yet I am aware. It's like being awake and completely surrounded by thick, pressing darkness, while not being able to feel your body or move or properly think.

I have no idea how long I am like that. An eternity, three seconds – it feels the same.

Then suddenly, every sense returns at once, in one big hurry and I'm bombarded with a hundred different sensations. My eyes are blasted open and my brain is scrambled with thousands of different messages as everything reacts at once, like a computer booting up after the power unexpectedly cut off and is now back on.

My ears hear crying and yelling or talking. My eyes are flipping from place to place, and half focused, I can see two people or maybe more or maybe less and trees and greenery and dirt and vines and sky. My limbs are all tingling unpleasantly and my arm moves and my neck feels raw and rope burnt and throbbing and open after being tight. I can smell dirt and rain and sweat and tears and maybe blood. My body gasps and constricts in that earthy air like never before as I lay in cold mud.

And no wonder. I've never been hung by neck with a rope, tied to a tree branch and left to die before. I doubt anyone else has. Or at least, anyone who has lived to tell about it.

It was then that things were finally clear enough for me to realize it was indeed two people standing over me, and that it was Kate and Jack. For an instant I feel encompassed by joy and warmth instead of pain and confusion. They're here, and they saved me. They cared enough to come after, and to _try_ and save me, when so many other people would have given up. When I was likely gone forever, and they still tried. They pulled me from that terrible darkness that I will never forget.

I feel lucky to be alive.

It's not long, however, before a different darkness pours into me and the previous warmth evaporates in a hurry.

"Claire…" I somehow manage to croak, though my throat is raw with pain inside and out.

I don't remember if Jack or Kate said anything to me about her, or if they even heard me.

I failed her. After all those glorious promises about how I would always be there for her, _always_ protect her, no matter what. And I let Ethan take her. I let him disappear with her, and leave me for dead. Who knows if she is any better off than I was, hanging in the tree. I almost wish Kate and Jack had just let me hang there. That way, they maybe could have had a better chance at finding and saving Claire. And that way, I wouldn't have had to face this wretched, penetrating darkness of failure that surrounds me now.

_I'm so sorry Claire._ I think, my soul nearly brimming with sorrow and guilt. _It's all my fault. I let you down. It's all my fault. I let you down…_

A tear squeezes out of the corner of my eye as Jack and Kate, still ecstatic that I am okay, help me to my unsteady feet. It has only been about less than a minute since Jack brought me back.

I think he notices the horrible sadness in my eyes at that moment, because he calmly reassures me that we _will_ find and help Claire.

All I can think about is how badly I want Ethan dead for laying a finger on me, and on Claire. For ever coming _near_ Claire.

My Claire.

_My light._

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**A/n:** Sorry for the depressing-ness, lol. They won't all be sad. Though I should warn you the next one is sad again. Whoops. Anyway, review me (reviews equal oxygen)! More soon!


	4. Rain

**A/n: **Another angsty one, and this one may possibly turn into a longer, better, separate one-shot someday, but for now, it's just this. Lyric bits (in italics) from "Remember When It Rained" by Josh Groban. Enjoy!

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**Rain**

_(Sayid. Mentions of Shannon, Ana._)

_Ooh, remember when it rained_

_Felt the ground and looked up high_

_And called your name_

_Ooh, remember when it rained_

_In the darkness I remain_

Sayid had been sitting in the sand for a few hours, staring at the crude wooden cross jammed in the ground a few feet away from him. He hadn't blinked in several minutes though it hardly mattered. The tears that had been coming steadily kept them moist enough that blinking wasn't necessary.

He thought he had gone through heartbreak when he'd saved Nadia and knew he would likely never see her again. Everytime he looked at Nadia's picture, he thought he felt love and loss.

None of those feelings compared to the emptiness and sadness that consumed him now. The anger hadn't hit yet. He supposed it would later.

The sun was beginning to set and as Sayid sat there, cold and motionless as a marble statue, the only things that circled endlessly in his mind were thoughts, memories and images of his time with her. Particularly their very last moments together.

It had already been close to twenty four hours ago and yet he felt as though it'd been mere moments ago. The gunshot ringing out loud and clear over the noise of the pounding rain. The stunned look on her beautiful face as she dropped like a stone into his arms. The crimson blood flowing from her and soaking his shirt and mixing with the downpour all around. The feeling of losing everything good and wonderful and worth living for in one terrifying instant. The sensation of his heart exploding with pain and sorrow like a glass shattering on a cement floor. His body became ragged with sobs that reached deep down inside - deeper than he'd known they could go, showing him right then just how much he'd fallen in love with her in such a short time.

He held her tight, screaming her name, over and over again. The rain cascaded in every direction and he rocked back and forth in the squishing mud, cold water and hot tears pouring down his face and onto hers. His mind couldn't fathom what had happened until Ana emerged from the trees with a smoking gun.

For the first time in an uncertain amount of time, Sayid moved. His body protested in the form of pins and needles and aches and strains. He was still too numb to notice or care.

He moved a few feet forward on his hands and knees through the sand and dirt until he was practically on top of the freshly dug earth of the grave. He settled there and lightly rubbed the dirt beneath him, willing it to be her and not the chilled ground. He stared at the cross again with blurred vision and reached out to touch it gently. As his fingers caressed the name etched into the wood, he croaked ever so softly,

"Shannon…"

_Ooh, remember when it rained_

_Felt the ground and looked up high_

_And called your name_

_Ooh, remember when it rained_

_In the water I remain._

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**A/n:** Wee! Sad, I know. But I kinda liked this one. Anyways, review me! If you don't know me, then know I treat any and all reviews like oxygen. They give me life. ;)


	5. Christmas Time

**A/n:** K, totally wrong time of the year to be reading or writing this (um, June... thanks), but this is the number I got and had to write a one-shot from it. Enjoy anyways. ;)

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**Christmas Time**

_(Hurley, Rose and Bernard. Mention of Libby, Micheal, Ana, Jack, Sun and Jin and Benry. AUish, as this has them still on the island at Christmas, and Libby is alive.)_

Rose was reorganizing the food on the shelves in her and Bernard's shelter as Hurley was walking by.

"Good morning, Hugo." She said with a warm smile.

"Oh, hey Rose. What's happenin'?"

"Just fixing up these shelves. Bernard pulls things off and then sticks them back on the shelf at random." She chuckled. "Honestly, sometimes that man has no sense of organization."

"That's cool. Hey, uh, Rose? Can I ask you something?" Hurley shifted from foot to foot a little uncomfortably.

Rose placed a hand on her hip, wondering why Hurley kept glancing around and hardly looking her in the eye. "Alright, what is it?"

Hurley cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "I, uh, well… you know how tonight is kind of… Christmas Eve?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I kinda wanted to do something real nice for… Libby."

"That's real sweet, Hugo. What kind of thing did you have in mind?"

"Well, here's the thing. I don't really have any good ideas and I thought… well, I thought that since you were married and all, that you'd kinda, you know, have… some good ideas." Hurley shrugged.

Rose laughed. "Alright then! Well, how about that picnic you wanted to do? Did you two ever go on that?"

Hurley shook his head. "Not really, no."

"Oh… it was that big to-do with Henry that interrupted all that, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Hurley nodded solemnly and dug his toe in the sand.

The pair were quiet for a second as they remembered that particular even not too long ago. It was when a man claiming to be named Henry Gale was being held captive in the hatch. One night while Micheal was on duty for pushing the button, "Henry" managed to escape. He got a hold of a gun, shot and killed Ana Lucia, shot Micheal in the arm, and Libby in the stomach. Luckily Jack was able to save Libby from dying, though it'd taken her a very long time to recover. Since that incident, however, for some unknown reason, all problems with the Others and "Henry" had ceased. As a result of Libby taking a long to heal from her wound, however, she and Hurley had yet to go on that "first date" they had been getting ready for the day she was shot.

"Well, I still think it's a perfectly lovely idea." Rose encouraged a moment later. "I think she'd really enjoy it."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Would you… like something that?" Hurley asked. "You know, if Bernard was doing it?"

Rose chuckled. "He used to do fun and thoughtful things like that. Past couple of months on this island, of course, has rather hindered his access to certain resources a bit, however."

"So… he used to take you on picnics and stuff?"

"Actually, I don't think we ever went on a picnic together. And definitely not on an island." Rose laughed.

"But, you would like it if he ever took you on one? Like I'm taking Libby on?" Hurley pressed.

"Sure I would. What girl wouldn't?"

"Like… a romantic Christmas picnic? Would you really – and I mean, _really_ – "

"Yes, I would, Hugo, I already answered that, I think, didn't I? Why the sudden interest in what I would like Bernard to do for me?"

"Uh… no reason." Hurley straightened. "Thanks Rose, catch ya later!" He waved and hurried away.

Rose shook her head in amusement and bewilderment before returning to her cans and humming "The Christmas Song".

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Later that day while Rose was hanging laundry and still humming Christmas tunes softly to herself, Bernard sauntered casually over to her. Somehow _too_ casually. She knew him too well and recognized that look in his eye.

She raised an eyebrow and regarded him warily. "What have you done?"

"Hmm?" He faced her and seemed to be suppressing a grin. "What do you mean?"

"Bernard, I know you far too well." Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "I can see that grin you're attempting to hide. What _did_ you do or what are you_ going_ to do?"

Bernard laughed and waved her comment aside. "Nothing, I'm completely innocent."

She didn't believe that for a second. "Oh really? I think I'll believe that when I see it."

He let his grin loose. "Yes, really. If you want to see that I'm innocent, then come on. I have something to show you. It's just down the beach."

Rose raised a skeptical eyebrow again but said, "Alright then. Lead on."

He did, and once they turned around a bend and were well out of sight of the beach they'd been living on, Rose gasped. For up ahead was a large blanket laid out on the sand. The sand around and presumably under it had been raked smooth and on either side of the blanket were two small lit torches for light once it got dark. The blanket itself was covered in a wonderful spread of food.

"Oh, _Bernard_…" Rose breathed, taking in the sight of the beautiful picnic.

"What do you think?" Bernard asked quietly, though he was pretty sure he knew exactly what she thought about it all.

"It's absolutely wonderful!" She clutched his hand and her face was lit up with a wide, happy smile. "You did all this?"

"Well, actually, Sun and Jin helped me with the food and it was Hurley who found out this was a good idea in the first place." He answered. "But yes, I guess I sort of did."

Rose smiled even more as she thought of her earlier conversation with Hurley. She would have to give him a big hug later.

The pair settled down on the blanket, side by side. Bernard put his arm around Rose and as the sun began to set, he placed a loving kiss on Rose's soft cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Rose."

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**A/n: **Ya, like I said. A little awkward to read a Christmas thing in the middle of June, but ah well. Thanks for reading. Reviews are like oxygen! :D


	6. Rocks

**A/n**: When I got the prompt "rocks" I tried to do something other then first thing that came to brain, which was of course, rocks (literal, found on the ground, rocks) and how I could write a one-shot involving them. So instead, I thought of this. Flashback scenes are fully in italics. I used a weird word processor to do this on (I'm house sitting, so I don't have my usual puter, and this one doesn't have Word) so there may some weird characters or word smunches. I think I got them all, but ya. Enjoy. P.S. Who else was SHATTERED by the death of a certain character in the season 3 finale??

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**Rocks**

_(Charlie. Flashbacks in Italics. Mention of Liam.)_

Charlie woke up that morning at about the time the sun had just made its way above the horizon and the sky was still streaked with shades of gold, pink and red. As he exited his tent, he noticed only three or four other people also up and about. He wasn't particularly surprised. Even after a few months on the island, it seemed most people still couldn't get up with the sun. Truth be told, he usually didn't either, but today he'd woken up and just felt like getting up.

He took a deep breath of salty sea air and decided to go for a bit of a walk before he came back for some breakfast. Charlie donned his runners and started down the beach.

He walked for quite some time, just following the shoreline and thinking about pretty well anything and everything, it seemed. Most of all his thoughts tended to center around his life before the crash. Liam, Drive Shaft, the concerts, the fans. His parents, his family, his old friends, people he hadn't thought about in years. How were they all now, what they thought of him, if they believed he was still alive, if they were doing anything to try and find him.

_What do you want to be when you grow up, Charlie? The teacher asked gently._

_I wanna be famous, just like Elvis. Eleven-year-old Charlie answered confidently. He added as an after thought, or Bon Jovi._

_The teacher smiled. Well, you'll have to work hard to become so. Elvis did, and I'm sure Bon Jovi did too. Lots of practice. Anyone else?_

Eventually, Charlie came upon a spot of the shoreline that was no longer sand, but a whole bunch of smooth rocks and boulders. He carefully climbed up onto a large, long flat boulder and settled himself down. He gazed out over water that matched the shade of his eyes and listened to the rhythmic crashing of the waves on the rocks several feet below him.

_He was seventeen now, practicing his guitar for the third hour in a row that Wednesday evening when the doorbell rang. Since he was the only one home, he knew it was his job to answer it. With an aggravated groan at being pulled from his practice, Charlie reluctantly set his guitar down and padded down the hall to the front door._

_It was Sierra, his girlfriend of almost two years. Lately they'd been fighting more and more frequently about petty things, but most of all about their respective futures, separately or together._

_She looked upset and uncomfortable._

_Sierra? What's wrong?_

_Charlie, she said, I didn't want to have to do this. I said I would never make you do this, but now..._

_What are you talking about?_

_They moved from the doorstep to the living room. Charlie dropped onto the green easy chair while Sierra sank down on the couch, her gold hair falling across her face as she looked down at her shoes for nearly a full minute._

_We've been having a lot of problems lately, Charlie._

_Problems that we can fix. He said simply._

_She seemed to ignore his comment. We're only seventeen. That's too young to be worrying about marriage and jobs and bills..._

_Get to the point, Sierra. His voice had an edge. He could almost feel what was coming._

_She sighed and finally looked at him square in the eye. I'm tired of the whole music thing._

_What?_

_I thought it was just a phase. A thing you'd get tired of and grow out of._

_Sierra, music is my life._

_And it's not mine._

_I'm serious about music._

_Charlie, you think you're going to be a rockstar. Do you know many other billions of people think they're going to be rockstars too?_

_What do you mean I "think" I'm going to be a rock star? I am going to be. Liam and I are going to put our music together and make a band. We've got a name picked out and everything -_

_That's just a silly dream! Lima's not serious about that. He's not serious about anything. I don't know why you won't try and pursue something where you can actually make money._

_I don't understand what my music and my dream have to do with you going to med school. He said abruptly, pointedly ignoring her last comment._

_She sighed. I need someone who will actually be able to support me with real money, not promises of being rich and famous if the next song is a hit. I need someone like a doctor or a lawyer, or even a plumber for pity sake. At this rate, if I stay with you, I'll be with some struggling musician who thinks he has something worthwhile. So its either me or your "band". You can't possibly have both. Not if you want to have a real life._

_Why did you even date me in the first place then if you can't possibly be with a musician?_

_I told you. I thought it was a phase. Charlie, if you want to stay with me, bury this dream of being a rockstar, and go to school for something. I don't care what._

_Sierra -_

_I didn't want to have to make you choose, Charlie, but you've forced me to._

_I didn't force you to do anything._

_I don't have all day, Charlie. She sounded sad and tired._

_He snorted. He'd had more than enough. Well, see you then._

_She looked genuinely shocked and even angry. What?_

_The band. My brother, my guitar, my music, my DREAM. I chose that. No contest._

_You're not a rock star -_

_You don't know that. I could be._

_Wait a minute._

_There's the door. He stood. Use it._

_But Charlie -_

_I said see you around._

_Charlie -_

_You made me choose and I chose. Bye now._

_Wait -_

_Sierra, you are not the glue holding my life together. I'm glad we had this little talk. Now I can devote even more time to something I really care about and go out and achieve my "silly" dream._

_Charlie -_

_You and I both know this was a long time coming. We should have broken up ages ago when we stopped caring about each other._

_She had no response to that and he slammed the door in her face._

Charlie shifted from a cross-legged position to lean back on his elbows and stretch his denim covered legs out in front of him off the rock. Judging the position of the sun now, he'd been gone roughly an hour and a half. A look at his watch confirmed that.

Sierra.

Now there was someone hadn't thought of in a very long time. After that conversation at his house, it was understood by all that they had officially called it quits. No one was surprised. He'd poured even more energy and time into his music then before. He and Sierra went their separate ways with little or no words between them since their breakup. It seemed both of them had truly seen it or felt it coming for a long time and so had accordingly "shut off". Once they broke up, it was simply more of a release from the obligation of dating each other. No tears were shed, no hearts were shattered. Until that final blow-up, it was as though both had been too stubborn to admit it wasn't working. Charlie had once wondered that if Sierra had never made him choose, if they had stayed together and even gotten married, just because they'd been together for so many years and not because they loved one another.

_They were getting huge now. The band was on the radio, they had a CD, and a tour. It was one of thousands of after-concert parties at a nearby venue that Charlie and the band were attending. Before the sex and the drugs wrecked everything good about the band and the fame. Before it wrecked everything truly fun about the parties._

_He was chatting with the music video producer who had taken an interest in Drive Shaft. His eye caught on her, dressed in a sleek, black dress. Fleetingly he wondered who'd she come with, or if she was there alone. Moments later, he made his way over._

_Sierra! Hi!_

_He hardly recognized her. She was so much older and more mature looking. Her hair was still that same pretty golden color, though, and her eyes had a curious and tired look about them._

_Oh, Charlie! How's it going?_

_Brilliant. I haven't talked to you in ages. How have you been?_

_Good, actually._

_That's good._

_There was an awkward silence as they both silently remembered the last time they had really spoken. So... I guess you made it. You're a rockstar after all._

_Yeah, well, not quite. But I'm getting there._

_There was another pause._

_And you? Said Charlie. Are you a high paid doctor with a high paid doctor husband like you always wanted? He said it as lightly as he could but it still came out with an edge. He wanted to gloat and shout that he had reached the "silly" dream. He held his mouth shut as she answered._

_She stiffened and smiled forcedly. Actually, I flunked out of med school in second year. It wasn't for me. I'm... I'm the manager of a clothing store. She sounded embarrassed and Charlie found himself feeling very pleased and very guilty for feeling pleased._

_He didn't feel the need to continue the conversation any longer, particularly when he was itching to add something that would most definitely hurt her feelings._

_Well, got to go. Lots of people to talk to._

_Right. Well. Have fun then._

_Oh, I will._

Charlie smiled a little and glanced down at his Drive Shaft ring, shining in the sunlight. He felt a pang of sadness and longing. As screwed up as things had been with him and Liam and the band towards the end there, Charlie missed it. Well, he missed the good parts. He missed signing autographs and being with the fans and being adored and respected and admired - all for singing some tunes. He missed performing and singing and standing on stage in front of thousands, belting out those tunes that he wrote. He missed going on tour and being in the bus and the pranks they pulled on each other and the food they wasted by having food fights in the middle of the night. He missed Liam and the other guys in the band. He missed home.

A tear slid down his cheek and he absently brushed it away.

_I guess you made it. You're a rockstar after all._

Charlie smirked and looked at the scene all around him. Once, some time ago, he had been a rockstar. Now the only thing "rockstar" about him in this place, were the rocks he was sitting on.

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**A/n: **There ye be. Leave me a review, let me know what you thought! More soon.


	7. Food

**A/n**: K, not so sure about this one. It's more abstract and weird and not my style, but I'm trying to do different things with these prompts, so I tried to do something more vague and free-fall-esque.

* * *

**Food**

_(Hurley and Libby. Abstract.)_

Food.

It is his vice. His addiction. His prison.

Other people have drugs, alcohol, smoking, gambling, shopping, or any number of other things.

He has food.

She can see that and not by his weight. She doesn't see that like other people do. Some people point it out to him, some make fun of him, treat him differently or badly because of it.

She doesn't. He's grateful for that.

Before the crash, she was psychologist. She dealt with this thing, this trouble, this addiction in others. Many others. She has an idea of how to handle it, how to break it, how to heal it. It's hard for them, for him, for anyone, and she knows that. Knows more than he could ever understand. She wants to help him.

And not just because she thinks she's falling in love with him.

Food is his vice, his addiction, his prison. She wants him to break free from it. She wants to free him.

She wants to free him from the need to eat when he's scared, sad, angry, or happy. She wants him to be able to enjoy it when he eats to sustain, not to fill a void or numb some pain.

Selfishly, she wants him to need her instead of the food. She wants him to forget about gorging because it's there. She wants to spend her days walking and talking and laughing and loving with him. Loving _him_.

He wants to as well. He can do it and he will. He will break the shackles that hold him to that unneeded need. He will walk away. He will walk towards her.

He will never look back.

And he never does.

* * *

**A/n**: How was it? Thanks for reading, and reviews are like oxygen. :D More soon.


	8. Bars and Girls

**A/n: **Here's a new one! I usually put one of these up while I am updating one of my other stories, but I've been super busy and have not had the chance to even look at my other stories. I managed to grab some time to type this up, though, so I thought I might as well submit it. This is another short one. Read on.

* * *

**Bars and Girls**

_(Sawyer, pre-island musings. Mention of Cassidy.)_

For the longest time, there were only three things Sawyer really cared about: money, alcohol, and women. He would con a woman to get her money. The money often got used on alcohol in some cheap corner bar. Sometimes it was to buy some female company for the night. Other times the money went towards setting up the next con or trying to find the real Sawyer. Chunks of it here and there had to go back to Hibbs or any other "higher up" who might've hired him for the job as long as they got a cut of the reward.

Sawyer had spent countless nights downing various drinks and alcoholic concoctions in the dim light of some local bar or pub, watching dancing girls and other entertainment. Watching, not caring, and rarely actually entertained. His thoughts were more than enough to keep him brooding and occupied even with ample distraction.

Thoughts about his life, the next con, the next payload. Thoughts about the real Sawyer, where could he be, how would Sawyer ever find him, did he remember what he'd done, was he ever sorry, was he still a con man pulling similar cons as the one that murdered Sawyer's parents. Thoughts about those parents, the one family he had ever really known, the family that had disappeared in a round of shots and smoke and anger. Thoughts about the friends he could have had, the family he could have had, the _life_ he could have had if he not chosen this life of deception and crime, all to find one man. Thoughts about the women he'd ever been with, dated, maybe even loved.

The closest he ever came to actual love, he thought, was Cassidy. She was one of his many long cons, but she was one of the hardest. She could read him and that scared him – only a few were ever able to do that. He had fallen for her to an extent, and that scared him too. It'd never happened before and in his line of work, that was something that never _should_ happen.

After he disappeared from her life with her money in tow, he convinced himself he never did love her. After all, he took her money in the end, didn't he? Left her behind to mend her broken heart after she'd finally decided he was genuine. No, he never really loved her, he decided. He didn't know what real love was. Doubted he ever _could_ know. He even wondered if he was even _able_ to love, after all the terrible things he'd done in his life. He was no better than the real Sawyer.

At that, he would smirk. He could love, sure. After all, there were really only three things he actually cared about, loved even. Money, alcohol and women.

* * *

**A/n: **There ye be. Review me and tell me what you thought, good or bad! I'd love to hear from you. :D More soon...


	9. Biting Nails

**A/n**: This one… is pretty random. I'm not sure I like it, but I'd like to know what you guys think. It's a bit AU, as it stars Shannon and Desmond, and Shannon was dead before Des came to live on the beach.

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**Biting Nails**

_(Desmond, Shannon. Mention of Penny.)_

He supposed it had started around the time his uncle had died. He was about nine years old at the time and his uncle was killed in a motorcycle accident on a lonely stretch of highway, two hours outside of Dublin. He was struck by a car and died because medical services could not get there fast enough.

He got nervous when they were in the vehicle, afraid they too would get in an accident. Afraid they would run into a motorcyclist and he would die just like his uncle. He started chewing on his left pinky nail.

His mother would see this and turn a little in her seat and snap, "Desmond, don't do that. There's no need to worry. Everything will be fine."

When he started grade six and he started getting bullied by two boys who weighed way too much for their age and acted like they owned the world, the habit increased to include most of his right digits. Usually he would hide in the bathrooms during breaks, chewing the nails on his right hand in fear, hoping they wouldn't find him.

Come high school, those two boys were gone somewhere else and the habit probably should have stopped there. By then, he'd learned to trust cars and cyclists, and the bullies were no longer forcing him to hide out. Like most habits however, it had gone on long enough that it happened without conscious thought. Also like most habits, he periodically tried to break it without success.

He started knawing on his other left fingers during final exams. Not entirely out of stress or worry, but more because he tended to start chewing when he was studying or thinking, and that carried over to his exams. He had a small, very silly hope that since he chewed certain fingers while he studied, that maybe if he chewed those same fingers while he wrote his exams, then he would remember what he'd been studying.

His mother got on his case often about how short and jagged his nails looked. She told him he was absolutely mad for thinking that chewing his nails would help him in his exams, because that just wasn't how it worked. "Do ya have any idea what kind o' bacteria and garbage collects unda your nails ev'ry day?"

At first, he would answer that question with a variety of different answers depending on his mood ("Of course I do", "How would I?", "Yes, it tastes good", "I'm just joking, ma", "Not really", "Don't care"). After a while, he just ignored her comments.

After high school, his thumbs were the last to fall victim to the vicious habit. He often noted how positively strange it was that he'd started biting his nails in stages, as he had only ever heard of people biting all of their nails at once, and stopping before they became adults.

The habit had turned into an absent-minded action that happened when he was thinking, day dreaming or concentrating. He soon quit his job, as it caused him to day dream far too often. It was painfully boring and as a result it had worsened his habit significantly.

It bothered him greatly that he did it, though for some reason he hardly ever made any real effort to try and stop.

Until Penny.

She helped him destroy that habit. It was only one of the millions of reasons why he loved her.

Since being stuck on the island, he had almost managed _not_ to fall back into that old, terrible habit of his. More recently, since the hatch had been destroyed and he had no more exercise machines, records, button-pushing and such to keep him occupied, he'd started again. So far it'd only progressed to solely his left hand and not his right.

One day, Desmond was out on the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore, staring into space as he absently started biting his fingernail. He heard a sharp female voice that snapped him from his thoughts and he realized he hadn't seen her approach.

"Sorry?" he said and regarded her. She was of average height but her long, slender legs made her look taller. She was wearing a very short pink skirt and her golden blonde hair just touched her shoulders. Desmond thought she seemed quite pretty, though she looked thoroughly disgusted and annoyed for some reason.

"I said _stop doing that_."

He glanced around himself at the sand, his clothes and such before looking back up at her. "Doing what?"

The blonde shuddered as though she couldn't believe he was asking. "Eating your finger."

Desmond embarrassedly buried his hands under his legs stretched out before him. "Old habit." He said with an apologetic smile.

"Apparently." The girl said dryly. She abruptly held out a small bottle of clear liquid to him. "I keep seeing you do it and it's driving me crazy."

"What's this?" asked Desmond as he took the bottle from her outstretched hand. He noticed she had long, painted nails that looked like she got regular manicures but (obviously) hadn't had one in a while. He figured that was why his nail-destroying bothered her so much.

"It's called Nail Biter Solution. Paint it on your nails like nail polish and next time you go to chew your nails, you're going to be sorry you did." She smirked, but in more of an amused way, not a mean way.

Desmond smiled. "Thanks."

"Whatever." The blonde shrugged and started to walk away.

"Excuse me, wait." Desmond jumped up from the sand and brushed himself off. "What's you're name?"

The blonde lifted her chin a little and answered haughtily, "Shannon Rutherford."

Desmond bowed his head in proper greeting. "Pleased to meet you, Shannon Rutherford. I'm Desmond."

Shannon flipped her hair with the back of her hand. "You're Scottish, right?" she said.

Desmond nodded.

"Thought so. The accent, you know."

"American, right?" said Desmond.

Shannon snorted. "How could you tell?"

"Ah, that funny accent gives you away."

She rolled her eyes but smiled and immediately seemed much less cold than she had a few seconds ago. "Well, good luck with the polish. I need it back when you're done."

"Right." Said Desmond and Shannon began to leave again.

She was only a few steps away when she turned around to add, "Oh, and Desmond? Just so you know. Girls like guys with nice nails – not too long, not too short. Well, _I_ do, anyways."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She smiled and Desmond thought it was a pretty and flirty type of smile. He smiled back widely and found himself a little interested in finding more out about Shannon Rutherford.

After all, it looked like she was about to break his habit too. Just like Penny.

* * *

**A/n**: Erm, ok, so maybe don't ask, lol. It was one in the morning when I originally wrote this and I was blowing off a bunch of random creative steam. Apologies. I considered not posting it, but I thought someone might like it, so here it is anyways. Leave me a review and tell me what you thought - good, bad or ugly! (Btw, if Desmond and Shannon were a couple, you could call them Shmesmond. Technically Shesmond, but Shmesmond sounds funnier. It was Jedi Knight Bus's idea, lol.)


	10. First Dates

**A/n:** Timeline is in the early days of the crash. I think these are getting worse and more random, but you tell me whatcha think. :)

* * *

**First Dates**

_(Claire, Boone. Mention of Shannon.)_

She noticed that he kept glancing her way, when he thought no one was looking.

The sun was high in the sky and pouring its heat down on the island. The waves of the ocean lashed rhythmically at the shore as she applied more sunscreen to her arms. She could feel herself burning under the sun's scorching rays and noted with dismay that her only bottle of sunscreen was now empty. She shifted her weight in the scavenged airline seat, adjusted her hat and let out a deep sigh.

It was three days since the crash.

She looked over towards the ocean and caught him staring again. He turned his gaze immediately away and Claire smirked. Part of her was a little amused while another part of her was mostly annoyed. Was he going to keep stealing glances at her and not actually come talk to her? Did he think she was attractive or…

Her eyes dropped to her bulging stomach and she laid her hand on it to feel the movement beneath. Well, she hoped to feel movement beneath. Nothing since the crash, which worried her deeply.

_Yeah, that's it,_ she thought bitterly glancing over at him, as he stared out to sea. _Stare at the pregnant girl and make her feel even more self-conscious. Wonder what her story is but don't talk to her. Wonder where her husband is. Wonder if she's okay. Stare, but don't ask. Just like everyone else. No one would want to get involved and actually have any sort of attachment or responsibility to the poor pathetic pregnant girl._

She looked away, letting out another long sigh. She tried her sunscreen bottle again, hoping to scrape the last of it out, but it was no use. It was all gone. She tossed the bottle away.

When she glanced up again, he walking her way with something clutched in his hand, swinging at his side. She figured he'd given up on the stealing glances and was now resorting to the make-a-reason-so-you-can-walk-by tactic that she'd resorted to many times in junior high to get a better look at potential crushes or offer a flirty smile to current ones. She highly doubted it was one of those occasions – he was probably merely trying to gouge if the pregnant girl was doing alright in the heat or something.

_Like everybody else. Just walk past and hope the bomb of responsibility doesn't go off while you're standing right there._

He didn't walk past her, though, much to her surprise. He stopped in front of her and offered her a crooked smile. "Um, hi."

"Can I help you with something?" Claire asked him and craned her neck to see his face.

"I just saw you using the last of your sun screen there and thought you might want another bottle." He said and extended his arm out to her. The object he'd been holding was a curvy shaped brown bottle of sunscreen.

"Oh," Claire smiled a little uncomfortably and took the bottle. "Thanks. Are you sure you don't need it?"

"Nah, my sister packed tons." He gestured his thumb to a slim blonde in an orange bikini currently laying out tanning on a brightly colored beach towel about fifteen or so feet from Claire's left. He scrunched his eyebrows a little in annoyance but his expression cleared when he turned his eyes back to Claire.

"Oh." Claire said again. A second of awkwardness passed before Claire bravely tried to make a joke. She said teasingly, "So is there a reason you kept staring at me over there? Am I burning that bad in this sun or have you never seen a pregnant girl before?"

He laughed easily and sat down on the seat beside her. "Would you rather the honest answer or the fun, charming answer?"

"How about," Claire pretended to look thoughtful. "Let's hear the fun, charming answer first."

"Alright then," he said. "I was told you were Australian and I am fascinated by Australian accents and especially Australian women so I had to invent a reason to come over here and talk to you. The staring was just to get some ideas."

She laughed. "You're right, that was a fun and charming answer. And now the honest answer?" She wrinkled her nose and braced herself.

He sighed and gestured again to the blonde in the bikini. "The staring over here was to make sure _she_ was staying out of trouble and not falling asleep and burning herself to a crisp." He grimaced.

Claire realized that from where he was sitting, to keep looking over at his sister the blonde, it would indeed appear like he was looking at her instead. She reddened a little, thinking of how annoyed she'd been at his staring.

"I'm sorry, I thought…" she began uneasily and trailed off.

"I knew I should have stuck with the fun answer." He said lightly, taking the awkwardness away as he smiled and met her blue eyes. "Moving on then. How are you holding up?"

It was a simple question. Yet there was something so different and pleasing about the way he said it.

Up until that moment, Claire didn't really have warm or cool feelings towards him, though she was quickly appreciating his sense of humor. When he asked her how she was, though, his eyes stayed locked on hers and didn't dart to her belly. Nearly everyone else who had managed to come close enough and ask the same question never seemed to be able to meet her eyes, or really meant "how is the baby doing?" when they asked. Their gaze flitted to her stomach and they always seemed to really want to know things like why was she flying alone? Where was the father of her baby? Why was she so young and pregnant and alone? Wasn't it recommended for women as pregnant as her _not_ to fly?

Yet, when this man said it, she sensed it was a tone he would use to ask anyone else. He was asking her because they'd just survived a plane crash, not because she was pregnant, alone and frightened-looking. It was hard to explain, but somehow, because he'd asked her so simply and plainly, it made her, and this whole thing, feel somehow almost _normal._ For just one second in time, Claire didn't feel so vulnerable and self-conscious.

"I'm alright." She answered truthfully after only a moment's hesitation.

He nodded. "Me too." A few seconds later, he added, "Actually, this kind of reminds me of my first date."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "How does… _any_ of this remind you of _anything_, let alone a first date?" she waved her hand at the plane wreckage scattered across the beach.

"Well, not the crash, obviously. Just the... sitting on a beach talking to a pretty girl part." He flushed instantly as though he hadn't meant to add that last part out loud.

Claire thought it was really sweet of him to say that and told him so.

"It's true." He said and glanced away. They sat in a comfortable silence for a good minute or two, both staring out over the beach, lost in thoughts about their respective first dates back in their old lives.

He turned his intense blue-green gaze to her. "Feel better?"

She regarded him confusedly. "I never said – "

"From over there you looked like you could use some company." He replied and smiled warmly.

A bit stunned that he was right, Claire didn't know how to react or what to say next. She managed a smile and bit her lip a little. "Well… thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm free anytime. You know where to find me." He smiled again, stood and began walking away.

"Wait!"

He stopped and looked back.

"You didn't… I don't even know your name."

"It's Boone."

"Boone. Thank you." She said quietly.

Boone grinned. "You're welcome Claire. See you around."

* * *

**A/n**: Well, it turned out a little more romancy than was intended. And other than like one line, it had pretty much nothing to do with first dates, lol. With these latest prompts I'm trying to stretch myself a little by trying out "new" character combinations (not necessarily romance!) and do different things with the prompts than the first thing that pops into my head. It's been very difficult and I'm not sure it's working, as the last two or three that I've tried to do something different with I did not like, so. We'll see. Tell me what you thought! Reviews are like oxygen.


	11. Anger and Revenge

**A/n: **Slightly abstract-ish and broken-ish. Pre-island and the episode where Micheal shoots Ana.

* * *

**Anger and Revenge**

_(Ana. Unnamed mention of Benry.)_

She woke up in the hospital and asked what happened. They told her. She remembered all at once.

_The baby didn't make it._

She'd waited until they were all gone and she was completely alone in the room, in the middle of the night, the door half-shut, before she let herself cry. She cried for a while – she hadn't cried in a very long time. She didn't cry after that.

The night nurse never let on that she could hear Ana's sobs.

_Don't worry. It's going to be alright._

She returned to work quickly after she was released from the hospital, because it gave her the opportunity to find him: the one who had shot her. People thought she came back too soon, that she needed more time to grieve, to calm down, to pick up the pieces and move on. She didn't want to grieve over something that was never given the chance to live. They tried to comfort her and say they understood.

But she knew they didn't. Knew they couldn't. It only made her angrier.

_This is no way to be._

Her mother was the worst. She supposed it was mostly because she was her mom, but also because she was her boss. Her mother still tried to protect her and understand what she was going through. Tried to take care of her, be easy on her, yet be tough on her in other ways. She tried to make Ana give up her obsession to find the man who'd shot her, and taken her unborn child.

But she wouldn't. She couldn't stop looking.

At night, when she was alone in her apartment, it was all she thought about. Finding him, facing him, killing him. Getting her revenge, for what he did.

_Getting him like he got me._

One day, it happened. She found him.

Ana got her gun. She headed down the street, late at night, to the place she knew he'd be. She called out to him. She raised her gun. The anger coursed through her like an intense fire or some sort of toxic fuel, burning up every part of her body. Revenge was going to feel so good, she just knew it.

She shot him.

_Bang bang._

Years later, she still thinks about that night. The way shooting him was supposed to make it all better. Make it even and equal. Make it all go away. She was supposed to be able to let the heaviness of it all go.

The problem, was that if revenge was supposed to feel so good, why did she still feel so bad?

She realizes that's why she can't shoot the man in the armory.

_Because revenge only makes things worse._

* * *

**A/n**: Something kind of random and interesting. From this one on, like four or so in a row, are like all my least favorite characters. Kind of funny how that worked out. Anyways! Any review it appreciated. More soon.


	12. Biting

**A/n:** So this chapter was supposed to come _before_ the last one with Ana. Doesn't really matter, except that at the end of that one I said the next few were about my least fav characters. Not true for _this_ one. Will be true for the next one. Also, after getting _"Biting Nails"_ like two or so before this, I was irritated to get _"Biting"_. I was like, "What the heck am I supposed to do for _THIS_ now!?" So this is just a random, fun, Kate/Hurley friendship fic with a faint trace of Jate. Nikki showed up rather unexpectedly, so I apologize for her intrusion. Timeline for this is the early days, when the Marshall was still alive and wounded, but before Jack and Hurley saw/found Kate's mug shot, and after Jack, Kate and Charlie went for the cockpit. (Got that?) Enjoy.

* * *

**Biting**

_(Kate, Hurley, Nikki, Jack. Small appearance/mention of the Marshall (aka Man with the Shrapnel). Mention of Pallo.)_

Kate rifled through her bag for the second time before dumping its contents out on her makeshift bed. She sighed heavily and stuffed everything back into her bag.

The other day when she'd gone on the hike with Jack and Charlie to search for the cockpit, they'd passed dozens of trees with fruit on them. At first she'd tried to take note of where the trees were so she could come back to them later, but they went far enough and long enough that she'd lost track. Besides, they'd passed so many, she doubted it would be hard to find some again. At one of the moments when they'd stopped to rest, there had been a tall guava tree nearby. Kate had climbed up a few branches and picked fruit for them to enjoy. Kate had kept several guavas for later and had obviously already finished them, though she'd been sure she'd had one left.

Deciding it was a good idea to pick some more, not just for herself but others as well, Kate exited her tent with the intention of going on another hike with Jack.

She found him crouching over the Man with the Shrapnel, carefully cleaning around the large piece of metal embedded in the man's chest area. Kate stiffened, like she did every time she saw Man with the Shrapnel. This was not because of his wound (though it was hard to look at) but because Kate knew him as the cold-hearted Federal Marshall who'd been chasing her since she'd blown up Wayne's house. Part of her felt guilty that the Marshall was injured and that Kate pretended not to know who he was. The other part of her desperately wanted him to die without waking up, so no one on the island would ever have to find out what she did and who she really was.

Snapping her eyes away from the Marshall's pale face, Kate smiled smally at Jack who looked up as she approached.

"Hey." She said.

"Hey Kate." said Jack and returned his gaze to what he was doing.

"He doing any better?" Kate asked, both hoping for good news and dreading Jack's answer if it _was_ good news.

Jack sort of shrugged. "Still hasn't woken up. No change, really."

"Oh" was all Kate could think to reply. She added, "You up for a break from all this?"

Jack met Kate's eyes and sighed. "Sorry Kate. I've got to finish this." He half-smiled regretfully.

Kate nodded. "No problem." She started to walk away.

"What did you have in mind?" Jack asked before Kate had fully turned away.

"Thought I'd get some fruit for people." She said.

At that moment, Hurley was just coming up to Jack carrying several bottles of water.

"Hey, you two goin' on another hike?" said Hurley as he set the water bottles down carefully on the sand within Jack's reach.

"So far just me." Kate smiled. "I was thinking of heading into the jungle a little ways and picking some fruit and bringing it back."

"Can I come?" Hurley asked hopefully. "I mean, as long as you don't mind me coming. And maybe as long as we don't, you know, go too far into the jungle, 'cuz I don't really wanna get eaten by… whatever ate the pilot."

Kate laughed. "No, we won't be going very far in and of course you can come."

"Cool. I'll grab a bag to carry stuff in then." Just as Hurley was hurrying away to get a backpack of some sort, a tall brunette with hazel eyes approached Kate.

"Excuse me, I was just walking past and didn't mean to eavesdrop, but are you going to search for food?" said the brunette.

"I'm… heading into the jungle to pick fruit or whatever I can find, yeah." Kate answered.

"Great! I'm starving. I'll come too."

Kate glanced up and down the girl, noting that she was wearing short-shorts and a pair of thin red flip-flops. "You're gonna want better shoes."

The brunette shrugged. "I'll be fine. Besides, where would I get any? I didn't bring anything else. I'm Nikki, by the way." She stuck out her hand and Kate shook it.

"Kate." She said. For some reason, Kate already felt like she didn't exactly like Nikki.

"See," said Jack from his kneeling position beside the Marshall. "You've got lots of company. What do you need me for?" His eyes sparkled.

Kate smiled warmly. "There's always room for one more, Jack."

Jack smiled back. "Next time, I promise."

Nikki cleared her throat.

Hurley arrived with a large backpack. "Ok, I'm ready, we can go now." He glanced at Nikki who raised an eyebrow at Hurley. "Uh, she coming too?" he said to Kate.

Kate nodded.

"Oh, uh, ok, cool." He turned to Nikki. "I'm Hurley."

"Nikki." She smiled in sort of a strained way and inexplicably, Kate liked her even less.

"Let's go." said Kate and the trio started on their way across the beach and into the jungle.

* * *

Roughly ten or fifteen minutes into the trek, in which Nikki had complained non-stop about bugs, grass, heat, humidity, hunger, thirst and her feet hurting, among other things, Kate had had enough.

"Look, you didn't have to come." Kate stopped walking abruptly and turned to snap at Nikki, cutting off her latest string of complaints about how other people always got to do fun things when they went in the jungle and here she was on _this_ little hike.

"Well, I didn't _know_ we were going on a stupid cross country hike to hunt for some flipping kiwis and oranges or whatever." Nikki retorted waspishly.

"Dude, we've been walking for like, ten minutes through trees. That hardly classifies as a hike, let alone cross country." Said Hurley. He was sweating profusely, as evidenced by the large wet stains on his shirt, though this was hardly a new occurrence for him. Being a big guy on a tropical island, he tended to sweat a lot more than anyone else. That being said, truth be told, Hurley was finding it to be very hard work keeping up with Kate, though he wasn't going to complain. Nikki had been doing more than enough for all three of them. Despite that, Hurley was actually sort of having fun.

Nikki shot him a dirty look. "Ok, whatever. I was just saying – "

"You _can_ go back." said Kate irritatedly, though it was clear she was basically telling Nikki to shut up or leave.

Nikki glanced from Hurley to Kate and snorted. "Fine… Fine. Have fun hunting." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and headed back through the trees in the direction of the beach.

"You sure you can find you're way back?" Hurley called after her.

"I'm _fine_!" Nikki shouted over her shoulder. They could hear her faintly talking to herself, and moments after she'd disappeared through the trees, they heard her calling for someone named Pallo.

Hurley and Kate looked at each other and fought not to laugh as they continued on their way.

It wasn't until another five or six minutes later, when they could not hear Nikki any longer, that either of them spoke.

"So… how much farther is it?" asked Hurley. He noticed Kate had slowed her pace significantly since Nikki had left and he briefly wondered if Kate had been purposely trying to get rid of her.

"Not far, I'm sure." replied Kate.

As if right on cue, the pair emerged from the tangled jungle to a small clearing. On the other side of the clearing were the large guava trees Kate had been seeking, looking full of fruit and ready for picking.

"Awesome." said Hurley and headed straight for the nearest tree and began pulling off fruit from the lower branches. "How do you know which ones are good?" he asked a few moments later.

"Well, you can look to see that they're not rotten," answered Kate. "Squeeze them a little to check they're not too hard, which means they're not ripe yet, or too squishy, which means they're past ripe."

Kate plucked a guava from near her head and rubbed it on her shirt. "Or, you can bite one." Kate proceeded to bite into the tasty fruit.

"Ok, but we can't exactly bring back a bunch of half-eaten guavas," chuckled Hurley. He added, "Besides, I think it's kinda a bad idea to use your teeth the test them."

Kate laughed. "I was just kidding about using your teeth." She took another bite. "But besides bringing back half-eaten guavas, I don't think it's that bad of an idea."

"Totally is, dude. For one," said Hurley. "If it's rotten, that'll be pretty nasty. And what if you, like, bite into one and it's all full of bugs or a big worm or something? You wouldn't want that in your mouth either."

"Good point." Kate nodded and munched more on her guava. Suddenly she screamed, spit out what she was chewing and threw her fruit away from her.

"_Aaaa_, what! _What_!?" Hurley jumped away yelling. "What is it?!" For a moment he thought his fear of biting into bugs had come true.

Kate, however, was laughing so hard she was clutching her sides. It became apparent Kate was messing with him, and Hurley had to laugh too.

"Your face…" Kate gasped. "Was priceless."

Hurley shook his head. "Don't _ever_ do that again." He chuckled. "Just so you know, from now on, you are going to test-bite all the fruit I eat."

"I'll be glad to." Kate laughed.

* * *

**A/n:** Bit random, I know. I literally could come up with nothing else. Review me anyways, because reviews are like oxygen and I'll love you forever. :D


	13. Handcuffs

**A/n: **This one is set in the episode where Walt finds the handcuffs in the forest. If I remember correctly, in that episode, Walt picks them up to look up at them and then Micheal shows up almost right away to take them. This extends the time between Walt finding the cuffs and Micheal taking them away. Unrelatedly, Walt and Micheal are in my top three most disliked characters on Lost.

* * *

**Handcuffs**

_(Walt. Mentions of Vincent, Sawyer, Sayid and Locke.)_

"Vincent!" Walt called through the trees. "Vincent!"

His foot landed on something metal. Thinking it was a piece of shrapnel from the plane or hopefully something more interesting, Walt bent over to inspect it. He got his wish: it was definitely more interesting than a piece of plane metal.

"Cool." said Walt quietly.

It was a shining pair of handcuffs. Walt's imagination immediately went into overdrive as he turned the cuffs over in his hands. He wondered who the cuffs belonged to and how had they come to be in the jungle. He tried to think of any reason why someone would carry handcuffs and only came up with two reasons: either there was a cop on the plane or a secret agent.

_I bet there was a secret agent on the plane,_ thought Walt, going with the option that was more fun to think about. _And they were probably on a secret mission when we crashed. Now a country is in big trouble because the agent didn't complete the mission._

Walt walked on through the jungle, amusing himself with more thoughts about the secret agent on the plane and who could be that agent. He called for Vincent periodically but the dog did not appear.

After some silent debating, Walt decided that the agent, and the owner of the handcuffs, must be one of three people.

One: Sawyer, the southern man who smoked all the time. Walt had heard that Sawyer had shot a bear on the island so that proved he knew how to use a gun (which an agent would definitely know). Besides, the whole southern thing was probably just his cover so people wouldn't know or guess that _he_ was the agent.

Two: the man from Iraq, whose name was Sayid. Walt knew very little about him other than that he was strong and very good with electronics. Walt reasoned that these were both strong indicators that he was indeed the agent. An agent would have to be smart and good with electronics to use all the cool gadgets he would get to go on missions. He'd also have to be strong to beat the bad guys. Walt thought he'd heard someone mention that Sayid had used a gun as well. Finally, the fact that Sayid seemed to be quiet and mysterious, out of the way and observant, could mean that he, as the agent, was trying to keep a low profile.

Both were strong cases for being the agent and the owner of the handcuffs, but there was one more option.

The third person who Walt thought could be the secret agent was Mr. Locke. The man carried a box of different sized knives, knew how to use them more than expertly, was a great with tracking and hunting, was wise and far more mysterious than Sayid, smart, buff, probably knew how to use a gun better than Sawyer (Walt wouldn't be surprised if it were true) and lastly, Mr. Locke always seemed to be at the right place at the right moment saying the right thing.

Walt smiled and turned the handcuffs around in his hand, imagining Mr. Locke taking out a mass of growling, dirty bad guys in classic Jackie Chan style. He thought of Mr. Locke pulling knives from hidden pockets beneath his clothes and dispatching more bad guys in that manner. He imagined Mr. Locke using those shining handcuffs to hand the ultra bad guys over to his agency.

Yup, if anyone on the island was a secret agent missing a pair of handcuffs, Walt was sure it was Mr. Locke.

* * *

**A/n**: Even though I pretty much loathe Walt, this one was fun to write. :P More soon.


	14. Trust

**A/n:** For the record, I pretty much loathe Juliet, and Jack/Juliet as a pairing. I am convinced that she is a double agent and will absolutely screw the Losties over when the time comes. This little snap-shot reflects that opinion a little bit.

* * *

**Trust**

_(Juliet. Mentions of Jack and Ben.)_

The moment I come into their camp, I am uncomfortable. I don't belong, and it's painfully obvious by the reception I receive versus the one he receives.

They embrace Jack like only friends and family do. They've missed him. Smiles, handshakes, pats on the back, laughter, hugs. They're so glad to see him, to have him back.

I stand back, allowing them their reunion. Slowly, the eyes turn to me. Some are confused (_what is_ she_ doing here?_), some are curious (_who is that? Where did she come from?_), many are angry or accusing (_she's one of _them!_ How could he bring _her_ here?!_) and all of them are untrusting.

I won't lie: it's intensely unnerving.

The days start to go by and though I try my best to be friendly and helpful, still no one seems to be able to trust me. Part of me doesn't blame them. After all they've been through, they're right to be so wary. Another part of me is frustrated. Can't they just let their guards down a little to let me in? Can't they let me be a part of the evening gatherings around the camp fire? Even let me build my shelter close enough to everyone else to feel safe?

Still they keep their distance. They want nothing to do with me, and they really believe I am here to do more harm than anything.

Except Jack.

Despite everything I have put him through – the kidnapping, the captivity, the manipulation – he manages to somehow push it aside enough to be civil to me. He talks to me, connects with me. He brings me food so I don't have to face the accusing and untrusting eyes. He smiles and laughs with me, and somehow, _somehow_, he seems to actually trust me.

I don't understand how he could. And as much as I like that he does, I wish he didn't.

When I leave my messages for Ben, I only feel guilty because of Jack. Though I keep up my pretense of being helpful, it would be just another lie to say that it isn't always in the back of my mind that I'm betraying them. I am betraying Jack. It's times like these that I have to remind myself that all I do will lead to me getting off this cursed island to finally someday reunite with my sister.

I have spent too many years learning how to control my emotions and show exactly the emotion I want to show, and believably, too. Concern, happiness, guilt, anger, indifference, or a complicated mix of any number of different emotions. Whatever the situation calls for. My real emotions stay buried deep – deep enough no one can even read my real thoughts emotions through my eyes, though I have learned to read theirs.

Ben has taught me well of these things, whether he knows it or not.

Jack doesn't know it, but I am manipulating him. I manipulate him as Ben has for so long manipulated me and so many others. Something else Ben has taught me is to have ample amounts of patience. I can wait for my moment. Eventually, I will gain the upper hand. I'll get the best of Ben and get out of here. I'll never, _ever_ look back.

When I speak to Jack, there is always a note of guilt there.

Because he trusts me, and he really shouldn't.

* * *

**A/n:** Ya... we'll see what really happens with Juliet. I'm hoping she's next on the character chopping block. Thanks for reading - reviews are like oxygen. :D


	15. Water

**A/n:** Also for the record, I can't stand Rousseau. Yet another character I'd love to see offed. This oneshot is bit abstract-ish and very short.

* * *

**Water**

_(Rousseau. Mentions of Alex and the Others.)_

When a riverbed floods so much that it overflows its boundaries, it often shifts course to accommodate the excess amount of water. It changes, it adapts.

And so it is with her.

Her days are spent doing things to adapt. To eat, to drink, to live, to _survive_. She hunts, she finds fresh water to drink. She learns how to build a strong fire, to make a sturdy shelter with a roof that does not leak when it rains. She figures out how to protect herself against the island's inconveniences, its oddities, its terrors. She discovers how to outsmart and avoid the Others.

Dimly, she half-hopes for rescue, though she knows perfectly well she could survive out here for as long as she lives. She hopes her distress call is still transmitting, though if no one has heard it in sixteen years, it's unlikely someone will just happen to stumble upon it now. She hopes Alex is doing alright, that she's alive, wherever she is. She hopes she will get to see her daughter before she dies.

Someday, maybe the water's path will shift enough that Danielle may find her daughter and finally, _finally_ be complete.

* * *

**A/n**: Short, I know, but it didn't feel like going on longer. Thanks for reading. Reviews are like oxygen!


	16. Cats

**A/n:** Ok all. I really struggled with this prompt. I mean, using Lost as my genre, what the heck was I going to do for "Cats"?? I finally came up with something, but I personally think it's pretty lame and random. But I could not think of _anything_ else. Trust me – I tried. Really, really hard. The timeline for this is sometime late season one.

* * *

**Cats**

_(Sawyer, Charlie, Kate. Mentions of Sun, Sayid and Jack.)_

"You can tell that?" said Charlie.

"Sure can, Has-Been." Sawyer replied with a cocky smile.

It was another sunny day on the island and for once, things were calm and completely uneventful.

"Just by looking at them?" Charlie said skeptically.

"That's what I said."

"But _how_ can you tell?" asked Charlie.

"Houdini don't reveal his secrets, do he?"

Charlie rolled his eyes.

"It's just all about readin' people. See," Sawyer shifted on his airplane seat to point over at Jack, who was filling up bottles of water. "Take the Doc over there, for example. He is definitely a dog person."

Charlie cocked his head. "You could just be guessing, though. You've got a fifty-fifty chance of being right."

Sawyer chuckled. "Look, Rockstar, I already told you: it's about reading people."

"Alright, alright, then let me have a go then."

"Be my guest."

Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest while Charlie studied the other people scattered around the beach.

"Ok… Sun. She's a…" Charlie stared thoughtfully at Sun who was folding laundry with Shannon, Kate and Rose. "Cat person?"

"Ooh, wrong." Sawyer shook his head amusedly.

"What? Why? Why not?"

Sawyer sighed. "Look at her stance, her eyes and the way she's talkin' to people. I'm sure she doesn't mind cats, but she's a dog person. Probably owns one."

Charlie glanced from Jack to Sun and back again, desperately trying to see what Sawyer was seeing as to why they were or weren't dog people. He couldn't.

"Fine, let me try again." Charlie looked carefully from person to person before settling on Sayid. He took several long seconds before firmly saying, "Dog."

"No way." Sawyer shot back immediately.

"Come on!" Charlie protested. "How is Sayid _not_ a dog person?"

"I'm not gonna try and explain it to you if you don't get it, Kid. He just isn't." Sawyer shrugged. "Sayid is the cat type, because he's a bit quiet-like and vicious at the same time."

Charlie snorted. "You're just saying that because he tortured you. And I still think you're just guessing."

"Well if you think I ain't right then go ahead and ask 'im." said Sawyer.

"Right then, I will. Oy, Sayid!" Charlie called and ran to catch up with the Iraqi man.

Sawyer couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was clear when Charlie came back shaking his head, that Sawyer had been right after all.

"What'd he say?"

"Cat." Charlie grumbled.

Sawyer laughed. "Looks like you don't got the talent for this kind of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Kate asked as she approached.

Before Sawyer could supply an answer, Charlie said, "Wait! Let me get this one…" He bit his lip in concentration as Kate looked confusedly between Charlie and Sawyer. Then Charlie stated, "Cat."

Kate raised an eyebrow.

Sawyer looked thoughtfully at Kate before slowly saying, "Dog."

"Want to explain?" Kate placed a hand on her hip and smiled down at the two guys.

"Sawyer thinks he can tell whether someone is a cat or a dog person by apparently the way they're standing or moving and bollocks like that." Charlie replied.

"I see. So you think I'm a cat person and Sawyer says I'm a dog person?" Kate settled down onto the sand in front of Sawyer beside Charlie.

Charlie nodded.

"Yeah, never figured you for a real cat person, Freckles. Don't think it's in your nature." Sawyer smirked.

Kate turned to Charlie. "Has he been right about everyone else?"

"Well, he was right about Sayid – cat, apparently – and he said Sun and Jack were both dog," answered Charlie.

"Sun owned a dog back in Korea." said Kate.

Charlie scowled while Sawyer's grin grew. "See? Told ya, Brit Boy."

"That's only two out four, though, Sawyer."

"How d'you figure that?"

"I don't know about Jack, so we can't count him for this," Kate explained. "You got Sayid and Sun right, but you got me wrong."

Sawyer raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"Yup. I'm definitely a cat person."

"Ha! Hah ha!" Charlie clapped his hands together. "Yes! You're not as brilliant as you thought, hey Sawyer?"

"Well. Guess I can't always be right." said Sawyer half-smiling at Kate in a way that made her feel like he was trying to guess her thoughts.

Kate merely smiled and stood up, brushing the sand off her pants. She smiled a little wider as she walked away, because Sawyer had actually been right: she was a dog person. She didn't have the heart to tell Charlie he was wrong again. Besides, it was always fun to make Sawyer think _he_ was wrong.

* * *

**A/n:** I did warn you. I couldn't come up with _anything_ else. Hopefully the next one is less random. Yikes. Any and all feedback adored! Thanks for reading. :)


	17. Snowflakes

**A/n:** This is a cute little one, one I actually quite like. It was one of those just-before-you-fall-asleep-it-hits-you-and-you-must-write-it-now-or-forever-forget-it type ideas. It's a bit AU, seeing as how it stars Libby and Desmond, and she was dead before he came to live on the island. This also does _not_ deal with the fact that Libby gave Des her boat once upon a time.

* * *

**Snowflakes**

_(Libby, Desmond. Mentions Claire and Penny.) _

"Mind if I join you?" Libby asked.

Desmond smiled and gestured to the sand beside him. "Not at all."

Libby settled down and leaned back on her elbows with a small sigh. "I was just talking to Claire about things we miss most from back home."

"Ya?" said Desmond. "What kind of things?"

"Oh, the usual. Certain food items, a real bed, books to read, family… that sort of thing." Libby answered. "What's on thing you miss most?"

"Of the usual?"

"Mm, no… something else."

Desmond stared out at the rolling sea for a moment. He of course immediately thought of Penny, but she'd said not the usual. He would have to be a little more creative. He cocked his head and smiled broadly again.

"Excluding the usual, I'd have to say that something I miss most is staying up late to watch an old black and white movie."

"Ah, yes, that's a good one."

"What about you?" said Desmond. "What do you miss most – not including the usual?"

Libby laughed softly and took a moments to think of her answer too. She turned shimmering blue-gray eyes to Desmond and replied quietly, "Snowflakes."

Desmond nodded. "Aye. Me too."

* * *

**A/n:** Short and sweet. I think if the timing had been right (as in Des didn't already love Pen, and Libby didn't fall in love with Hurley – both pairings of which I adore – and if Libby hadn't have died, etc and so on), I think these two could've been a real sweet couple. Thanks for reading. Reviews are like oxygen! :)


	18. Midnight Snacks

**A/n: **Been a long time since I added one of these _Snapshot_s… I hope people are still interested in reading them! Anyways, a little one about Jin, because he rocks. :D Also, I don't really know what they would specifically eat for midnight snacks in Korea, so… I'm guessing. As in I did something for the sake of the prompt. ;D Enjoy!

* * *

**Midnight Snacks**

_(Jin. Mentions of Sun, Paik.)_**  
**

He'd read somewhere that if you got up once for a midnight snack, you'd be getting up every night after that for a midnight snack. It had something to do with your stomach having a good memory and thinking that if you ate at this time yesterday, you should be eating again. He supposed it must be true, for any night he was not completely exhausted, he would wake up close to one-thirty or two in the morning and need something to quell his grumbling stomach.

He would carefully slide out of bed and tiptoe to the kitchen, careful not to wake Sun.

Some nights he went for something crunchy like crackers, filling like a sandwich, or salty like sushi. Most nights, however, he enjoyed a small bowl of ice cream, whether it was chocolate chunk or raspberry sorbet or anything in between. He wouldn't ever have much – just a small scoop or two. He always washed the spoon and bowl after he was done. It wasn't that he was keeping his midnight snacks a secret from Sun or anything, for he was quite sure she knew already. She was the one who did the grocery shopping, after all, so she had to notice that the ice cream container emptied fast considering she hardly ever had any and rarely witnessed him having any either.

He relished those moments when he sat on a stool by the kitchen counter, silently savoring his ice cream. It gave him time to relax and think. He didn't have to be Mr. Paik's doormat or "messenger". He didn't have to say things like _Yes sir_, _Of course sir_, _Right away sir, _when he really wanted to say something more along the lines of _Go to hell, sir._

He didn't have to lie to Sun, he didn't have to be distant or secretive or cold. He didn't have to turn away from the angry and hurt look in her eyes.

During the time he sat there, spooning up ice cream and letting it melt slowly and wonderfully on his tongue, he thought about getting away. He imagined walking away from Mr. Paik once and for all, to receive an order and turn away shouting over his shoulder that he _quit_! To get right into Paik's face and say that he could no longer stand working for such a dishonorable scumbag. He thought about finally enjoying a candlelit dinner with the love his life without the unwelcome interruption of Paik on the phone or pager. He imagined packing up, moving, disappearing…

_Someday…_

These thoughts kept him feeling sane. They felt like the light at the end of a tunnel where he was stuck in the middle. He kept these thoughts and images to himself, always sure that it would happen someday. Someday he'd see a way out and he would take it, whatever it was. They would be free, they would be together, it would be perfect like it was supposed to be.

_Someday…_

He kept those images and thoughts fresh in his mind as he crawled into bed sometime later.

_I'm so sorry, Sun,_ he thought. _Someday this will all be over and we'll be together like we always dreamed we would be. I promise._

And eventually, Jin would drift off to sleep.

* * *

**A/n: **(sigh) Oh Jin, how do I love thee? Jin is so awesome and misunderstood, and I waited on using him in a Snapshot because I wanted it to be good. I hope this was! Thanks for reading, and as always, any review is of course appreciated (they're like oxygen, after all, and who doesn't like breathing?).


	19. Don't Tell

**A/n: **A new snapshot… woo. I've had this one kicking around in my notebook for a while, and it's kind of random, so we'll see what people think. Timeline is sometime season 2, after Eko arrives but before Locke and Eko are "at odds" with each other. Enjoy!

* * *

**Don't Tell**

_(Eko, Locke. Unnamed mention of Yemi, Walt.)_

It was another long night of staying in the hatch and pushing the button every 108 minutes. Locke was supposed to be sleeping, letting someone else take care of the button. Somehow, however, his body wouldn't let him. He just couldn't seem to doze off, no matter what he did. Finally he'd had enough tossing and turning.

Eko didn't say much when he saw Locke come into the computer room. He inclined his head slowly in greeting and said he had not been able to sleep either so he'd taken over button-duty for the night. Following that, the pair sat in comfortable silence for some time, listening to the _click_ of the countdown box turning a number over every minute. Eventually, Locke felt like talking a bit.

"You know, Eko," he began, softly breaking the silence. "For someone I spend a lot of time down here with, I know next to nothing about you."

Eko's mouth quirked in a small smile. "I can say the same about you, John."

Locke nodded. "I suppose that's true." He paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We don't have to know everything about each other right away, of course, but how about I tell you something about myself and then you return the favor. Since we have nothing better to do."

Eko considered this proposition a moment, still with a small smile playing at his lips, before replying, "Very well."

"Good. I'll start." Locke leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms across his chest. He studied Eko very carefully before speaking again. "Only one person on the island knows what I'm about to tell you – and actually, he may not even be on the island anymore."

Eko raised an eyebrow in interest.

Though no one else was in the hatch other than himself and Eko, Locke dropped his voice to almost a whisper. "I was in wheelchair, for four years. Paralyzed from the waist down. We crashed, and… well, I'm not in a wheelchair anymore."

Both of Eko's eyebrows slid up his forehead.

Locke grinned and added, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone. It's not something I want everyone to know. But... I thought you might like to know."

"Understood." Eko nodded.

Locke waited patiently while Eko thought about what he could say. Several moments passed before Eko decided to reveal something rather secret as well.

"I only became a priest when my brother died." said Eko. He hesitated before continuing slowly. "I was the farthest thing from a priest and my brother… died trying to change me."

"I'm sorry." said Locke.

"Do not be." Eko smiled sadly. "Though I miss my brother greatly, in many ways the moment of his death became the best thing that could have happened to me."

Locke nodded in understanding.

"I would also appreciate it if you did not tell anyone. It's not something I want others to know." said Eko.

Locke chuckled. "Agreed."

* * *

**A/n:** Eh, not sure I like that one. Oh well. Thanks for reading! And reviews are like oxygen. :D


	20. Singing

**A/n:** Alright, this should pretty much be a disclaimer. This Snapshot is a wild departure from canon, into the AU realm. Some have barely touched on the AU-ish side, but this is really stretching. For some reason when I got the prompt "Singing" this idea was the only one that came to mind, and then it subsequently refused to leave so I could write something more canonical. It was going to be longer, but turned out not to be. Lastly, this is told from Aaron's pov, when he's roughly fourteen years old, and ignores the entire Oceanic 6 storyline.

* * *

**Singing**

_(Aaron. Unnamed mention of Claire, Charlie, Sun and Kate.)_

I remember different things from when I was younger. Smells, sights, sounds. Sometimes faces that I don't have names for, sometimes familiar voices I don't have faces for. I remember strange things that I'm not sure are real, ever were, or are part of some half-forgotten dream.

Most of all, though, I remember the singing.

I'm not really sure why. She didn't sing very often. Only softly to herself when she was sure no one was listening and only when I was much younger. Maybe she thought I grew out of it, got too old to listen to my mother singing. Eventually she stopped. Or least, stopped when I was around.

I remember she used to talk about my dad a lot. The strangest part was when I was a bit older and she had to explain things more clearly to me. That my real, biological father was back in The World and the man she referred to as my father was someone she had only known for a short time, but had loved very, very much. She said he took really good care of me and acted very much like a father should. She said he died before I was a year old, though she will never say how. She said she misses him every day.

Singing, she said, was this man's profession. I don't understand how that could possibly be a profession, but there are a lot of things I don't understand. Anything I have learned has come from books we found in underground shelters – everyone here calls them Hatches – or from stories the older people tell of The World as they knew it before they came here. Someday I think I would like to see The World, where singing is a profession.

Ming and James want to see The World too. Their parents encourage them to dream about seeing it, though it's clear they don't believe we ever will actually see it. Many nights go by where Ming, James and I sit out on the beach around a small fire and try to imagine the things our parents have talked about. Sure we may have seen pictures of some things in books from a Hatch, but that's nothing compared to seeing it in real life.

It's usually awfully late when Ming's mother or James' mother come to get them to turn in for the night. I say goodnight to my best friends and then head to my own shelter that I share with my mom.

Sometimes, if I am quiet enough when approaching my shelter, I can catch her singing softly to herself when she thinks no one is listening.

* * *

**A/n:** There you have it. The next one will be more canonical. Thanks for reading, and reviews are lovely. ;)

_Note: Ming is the daughter of Sun and Jin, and James is biologically Sawyer's (who died at some point before James was born) and then Jack "married" Kate and is the only father James knows (kind of like Rafe and Danny, with Evelyn, from Pearl Harbor)._


	21. Graveyards & Gravestones

**A/n: **Alright, I likely won't be putting up another ones of these for quite a while, but here's a new one for now – significantly less AU than the last one. Enjoy. :)

* * *

**Gravestones and Graveyards**

_(Claire, Thomas. Mentions of all dead Losties.)_

Sometimes when the weather was nice and sunny, and she was bored, Claire would walk to the cemetery a few blocks away and wander through it. She would read the names on the headstones, glance at the dates to see what the approximate age of the person was, she'd carefully read the various inscriptions and study the trinkets and flowers left on the soil in front of the headstone. She tried to imagine who these people were, what their life was like, and how they died.

She'd get home and Thomas would ask, "Hey, where've you been?"

She would reply that she had gone to the cemetery to walk around.

"Why do you that, Claire?" Thomas would say, shaking his head.

"Because it's relaxing."

"It's _creepy_. You're walking on a bunch of dead people."

"I don't walk _on_ them, Thomas. I stay on the paths or go beside the graves."

"It's still bloody weird. I wish you wouldn't do that. _Normal_ people don't do that."

_So maybe I'm not normal._ Claire thought angrily.

She didn't find it morbid or creepy, though. She found it interesting and indeed, relaxing. Perhaps that lady was a gorgeous model who got caught up in a scandal. Perhaps that man was an officer, killed in the line of duty. Perhaps they were both average people with average lives, who were anything but average to the friends and family they left behind.

Maybe the fascination with imagining these people's lives came from the fact that she didn't know them herself. If she had, she of course wouldn't need to imagine who they were. Walking among the gravestones, she decided that if she knew all the people buried here, she wouldn't want to walk among them.

On the island, however, that's not true. Well, it's partially true. There is a graveyard on the island, near the shore but far from the beach where they live. Claire often goes for long walks up and down the shoreline and more often than not, she visits the graveyard, with its wooden crosses sticking up out of the dirt and sand.

She can imagine the lives of a few people who were buried here because she never got to know them well enough. Joanna, Steve (or was it Scott?), Nikki, Pallo… A few more she got to know more and it makes her sad to think how they are gone and that she didn't get to know them ever better: Boone, Shannon, Ana, Libby, Eko…

There's one, though, that she wishes wasn't there. She wishes she could imagine the life of the person buried under that cross, without knowing all the little details, because that would mean she didn't know him and she never had to feel to feel the pain – the _constant_, aching, consuming pain – of losing him.

Her hand touches the cross, which is really just a symbol of his death in this case. The body was never recovered. She's not sure if that makes it harder or easier to believe that it really happened, and that Charlie – _her _Charlie, the love of her life – is really gone forever.

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**A/n: **I guess it kind of didn't end up being of graveyards and gravestones so much as Claire losing Charlie, but oh well. Thanks for reading, and reviews are like oxygen. :)


	22. Spells

**A/n:** Another random scene. This one circa season 2-ish. Seriously, sometimes, I can come up with nothing decent for a prompt. I do apologize for that! Enjoy?

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**Spells**

_(Jin, Sawyer, Hurley.)_

"Ok Chewie. If you wanna learn English, you're gonna need to learn how to spell it as well as say it." Sawyer drawled. "It'll probably help you pronounce stuff too."

Jin nodded slowly, trying to understand.

"Dude, he should be able to talk it before he tries to spell it." said Hurley.

"Just let the man try, Hugo. Trust me." To Jin, he said, "Let's start simple. Beach."

Hesitantly, Jin repeated, "Beach."

"Good. B – e – a – c – h."

Jin knit his eyebrows together.

"Come on Jinbo, repeat after me. Slowly. B – e – a – c – h."

"Bee… ee… ay… see…"

"Dude, if you're gonna do it this way, you gotta go even more simple. Jin, cat. C – a – t."

"Ca-at. Cat." Jin repeated. "See… ay… tea?"

"See?" Hurley grinned and Sawyer rolled his eyes. "It's how all good spellers start."

"Whatever you say, Spelling Bee King." Sawyer said sarcastically and went back to reading his book.

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**A/n:** Thanks for reading, reviews are like oxygen. :)


	23. Ginger

**A/n:** Honestly, sometimes… I just don't know where these plot bunnies come from. I'm sorry about this one. I'll try to do better next time! :P This is set the night Charlie is trying to get Desmond drunk in season 3. This is a moment from the getting drunk portion of that night.

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**Ginger**

_(Hurley, Desmond, Charlie, Kate. Mention of Libby.)_

Charlie took a deep swig from the whiskey bottle before passing it to Desmond.

"Alright," Charlie said. "My turn." He looked thoughtfully up at the clear night sky before smiling and adding, "I've got it. Which Spice Girl is the hottest?"

Hurley laughed. "Dude, what the heck?"

"Just go with it." Charlie encouraged.

"Aye, that's a tough one," Desmond chuckled.

"Hurley, start us off. Who and why." Charlie gestured to his friend as Desmond sipped from the whiskey bottle.

Hurley cocked his head. "Baby. 'Cuz she's a hot blonde."

"Ah, yes and we know you're all about the blondes." Charlie winked and slapped Hurley's shoulder. The moment was inadvertently tinged with sadness as they both thought of Libby.

Charlie quickly cleared his throat. "Right, I'll go next."

"Better make it good, brotha," said Desmond, passing the bottle to Hurley.

Charlie rubbed his hands together. "This one's easy, mate. The fiery red-head Ginger – before she left the group, 'course. She was so _spunky_."

Hurley and Desmond both laughed hard and the bottle came back to Charlie's hands.

When he'd recovered his breath a few moments later, Hurley pointed to Desmond. "Who's it gonna be, dude?"

"Well, ya see I've never really been a fan nor I do actually know much about them at all," Desmond replied and ignored the loud grunt of skepticism from Charlie. "Even so, I have to say I've always had a bit of a thing for Posh – such a lady, that one."

The trio burst into rounds of laughter again and then continued good-naturedly debating the virtues and flaws of the various Spice Girls.

"Ginger had the shortest skirts!" said Charlie. "That makes her the sexiest."

"Dude, Baby."

"I'm tellin' ya lads. It's definitely Posh."

The "debate" went on for several more minutes until it was interrupted by Kate walking over, her arms full of water bottles.

"Are you three seriously over here arguing about which _Spice Girl_ is the best?" she smirked.

The three men glanced at each other and Charlie quickly said, "'Course not! We're debating about cars. Which one is the most manly."

Hurley snorted and Kate's smirk didn't disappear as she dumped the water bottles on the ground at her feet.

"Drink some water between your whiskey." She said. "So you'll stay properly hydrated."

"Will do. Thanks." Desmond nodded.

The three were quiet for a moment as Kate headed back towards the rest of the camp.

"Cars!" Charlie shouted at her retreating back. "And really, really big trucks!"

"Dude…" Hurley began, trying not to laugh too loudly.

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**A/n:** I honestly can't remember if Kate was back from being a hostage with the Others by this point. So if she wasn't then this is slightly AU-esque in that detail. Anyways, thanks for reading and reviews are like oxygen! :D


	24. Strike

**A/n:** So it's been FOREVER since I updated this story! Thanks for sticking with me. At this point, I have decided to cap this collection and start a new one at a much later date. Now that the series is over, I feel like a new batch is in order, but reflecting my new ideas and the resolutions (or non-resolutions) of the show, filling in the blanks, etc. So please enjoy this last "Snapshot" and look for it's sequel, probably a few months or so from now. Thanks to _each_ and _every _reviewer - you are all SO appreciated!

This scene I actually wrote ages ago (posted elsewhere and rediscovered on my external hard drive), but dusted it off to post it as the collection-ender. It's based on that moment in "The Other Woman" in S4 where out of nowhere, Charlotte hits Kate over the head and says, "What?" to Dan's slightly exasperated and worried look. It has nothing to do with that scene except that it makes me think Charlotte always had the potential to become extremely bad*** at any given moment, with no emotion.

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**Strike**

_(Dan Faraday, Charlotte.)_**  
**

The pair struggled and Dan didn't know what to do. He felt pathetic standing back and watching nervously and helplessly while Charlotte attempted to beat the tar out of that man. He should be doing the wrestling, as the guy and all. But he wasn't exactly a fighter, nor did he have any experience in the whole getting-the-gun-from-the-goon-before-he-shoots-you thing. Still, he thought he should be intervening...

After a few moments of indecision, a choice was made for him as Charlotte wrestled the gun from the man's grasp and tossed it to Dan.

"Dan, grab the gun!" she shouted.

The man punched her in the mouth in her split second of distraction, sending her flying onto her back. Dan clumsily caught the gun and aimed it in a wobbly manner at the man.

Charlotte smiled through her bleeding lips as the man froze. She stood and moved to stand beside Dan. The man reluctantly raised his hands in surrender.

Dan's hand was shaking but he kept the gun trained on the man. "Don't, uh... don't move." he said, attempting to sound like he was in control and failing rather obviously.

Charlotte brushed herself off, wiped her mouth with a grimace and regarded the man with a cold yet somehow amused stare. "Shoot him, Dan." she said flatly.

"W-what?" Dan glanced at Charlotte with a start and nearly took his aim away from the man. The man twitched as if to make a move but Dan was alert enough to steady his aim and snap his gaze back to the man who promptly became still again.

"Shoot him." repeated Charlotte, almost a little impatiently.

"Charlotte, I-I, uh..." Dan stuttered uncomfortably. He was a scientist. He wasn't violent. He'd never even punched someone before, let along shot someone - the whole non-fighter thing all over again.

"Dan, SHOOT him." Charlotte said edgily. "We know who he works for and if we let him go, he'll just go report to his boss and we'll be in even deeper trouble than we are now! He tried to kill us, so we need to return the favor."

"Killing, um, isn't the same as_ trying_ to kill, Charlotte. We should just t-tie... tie him up... knock him out... that way he can't um, follow us. Then, maybe - look, we can call someone to arrest him, and -"

"Oh for God's sake." Abruptly Charlotte grabbed the gun from Dan's grasp with frightening ease, cocked it and shot once, twice, three times, right in the man's chest.

Dan barely had time to shut his eyes in time to avoid seeing the second and third shots. He opened them again to see Charlotte irritatedly toss the gun back to him. He fumbled with it and held it gingerly, as if it might go off unexpectedly while he was holding it.

Charlotte shook her head and stalked away, gently touching the blossoming bruise beside her eye.

Dan's shoulders sagged. Now she thought he was more pathetic and useless than ever.

**-end-**

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**A/n:** This is a scene with no pre-story or continuation - just random inspiration. So I don't know who the man is or why he's trying to kill them or anything. Thanks for reading, reviews are love. And thanks for reading and reviewing all the snapshots/oneshots in this collection. Namaste! ;)


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